Race 3 - Day 23
Crew Diary - Race 3 Day 23: Cape Town to Fremantle
23 November

Nigel Walcot
Nigel Walcot
Team Liverpool 2018
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A (largely) factual account of life on board Liverpool 2018 – Part 2: “What Happens At 45° Stays At 45°”

I was going to write this blog about some of the intricacies of life at 45 degrees, on the 45th parallel (S). Things like needing the skills of a meth-fuelled orangutan to get into a top bunk, or that the heads are akin to Armitage Shanks meets Alton Towers. However a lot has already been said on this by other writers, and as my blog has been delayed by a week I will devote this blog to describing the range emotions/feelings that I experienced through the course of this (my first and only) race leg. Here are just a few:

In-trepidation: Sailing out from Cape Town on the last day of October, gave me a certain sense not quite of foreboding, but of nervous excitement. I knew I was going to be in for the sail of a lifetime, but I also knew it would be tough, hard, tiring etc. etc. I was also past the point of no return. It was too far to swim back the the mainland. Besides, I hadn't packed my arm-bands.

Misery: Three days in, when the first signs of sea-sickness start appearing (quite literally, in front of mine and everyone else's eyes). I knew this was going to happen, people told me it was going to happen, but still was not pleasant. Those tablets I had swallowed were absolutely no use whatsoever. I may as well shoved them where the sun don't shine for all the use they were (I had never heard of the brand 'Suppository' before in any case).

Fear: Not the out and out Nightmare on Elm Street-type fear, but still a certain amount of buttock-clenching when the spinnaker got shredded into the water, and the end of the boom was bouncing along the waves – keeping the boat at 60-70 degrees. Reassuring then (in more ways than one), that if any other buttocks were clenched, they were kept firmly out of sight.

Satisfaction: Getting a headsail down, and a spinnaker hoisted – without a hitch. There is nothing worse than spending half an hour preparing for a hoist, getting it wrong, and spending the next two hours collecting, repacking and preparing for a new hoist. So first time right is mega-joy.

Relief: With a very specific procedure in the heads, involving pumping, switch flicking, and some element of praying, when it all came together (or more accurately....'went' together), the relief was immense (as it were).

Relaxation: Lying in the sun (albeit in a wind-hole), on deck, in the final 400 miles of the leg. The whole watch was out, and being able to unwind after the last 3 weeks was a great chance to relax. And de-fumigate the sail locker.

Frustration: Knowing that land was so close (400 miles), yet so far (3 knots average speed).

Confidence: Waking up in the morning, if the first thing I did not smell in the morning was not my socks hanging next to my bunk, I had the confidence that they were good to be worn for another watch (or three). Others in the vicinity did not necessarily share in this confidence.

Bliss: A hot shower on land, a real toilet, and a horizontal bed (this should perhaps be labelled 'Future Bliss').

Annoyance: That point where the incoming next watch prodded me in the shoulder, and tells me to get out of bed, at 3:25am – after a whole 3hrs sleep. It was tempered with the certain knowledge that the feeling must have been mutual, when it was my turn to do the prodding.

Excitement: The first glimpse of land! No wait, that doesn't sound right. The first beer – that's it.

The last 3-4 weeks have been at times a real grind, and at others a great feeling of achievement. Getting that emotional roller coaster ride has been a real challenge. But that was part of the whole experience. (Naturally I would say that... looking back on it).

Written By Nigel Walcot